


Smoke by the Lakeside

by Zasa



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 05:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18542941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zasa/pseuds/Zasa
Summary: Arthur brings a special herb back to camp in hopes of relaxing Dutch, but with it comes old memories and new regrets.





	Smoke by the Lakeside

**Author's Note:**

> I just realized I published this a day after 4/20. That was not intentional lol
> 
> Also this special herb isn't pot, it's just something made up.

Something had changed. Arthur, having missed the botched Blackwater job, could not say that that's where the change began. Maybe it started before that, with small details he hadn't bothered to remember. Things that seemed inconsequential at the time may have been another piece of the puzzle that made Dutch what he was now. 

What was he now?

Arthur couldn't be sure.

But the ever-motivated man had turned his efforts inward. He'd grown cold. He began treating Arthur like a workhorse. He spent more time with his nose in that damned book than he did sleeping or planning or - as Molly so graciously screamed it for the whole camp to hear - touching her. The few times he bothered to converse with Arthur, it was with some deep-seeded poison Arthur could not for the life of him decide the source of.

"I expect you'll betray me in the end, Arthur. You're the type."

Had Arthur thought Dutch was in his right mind, he would have gotten angry, would have snapped, would have asked him if twenty years meant that little. Arthur had given up his chances at a normal, happy life over and over again, and here was Dutch, acting as though Arthur's biggest regrets were nothing more than schemes. But Arthur could see the frantic dart of Dutch's eyes that day in Horseshoe Overlook, could see the vice grip on his book. Dutch had left his mind in Blackwater with all their money, and the lack of both was driving him to an inevitably messy end. Nothing scared Arthur more than imagining his one connection to other people - Dutch being the glue that held his family together - vanishing. Or worse.

When Arthur had met that strange herbalist feller not far from their new camp at Clemon's Point, Arthur had decided to strike up a conversation, aware how desperately lonely he sounded. It was the same way with Albert Mason. He would linger until Albert told him, in his own nice way, to go. Arthur begun asking questions about plants he did not care about the answers to, just so he could feel like he was a little less alone.

"And this," the man said, the grin that had first appeared at Arthur's interest still hanging on, "whatever your ailment, this little flower will help with it all. It won't heal you physically as others will, but it eases the mind, and that, good sir, is the source of all our woes."

Arthur looked at the flower same as he would a raft in the middle of an endless sea.

And that's how Arthur got here, tossing his saddlebag full of the strange plant onto his cot, trying to figure up a way to get Dutch to smoke it. If anyone needed a break, it was him. And he needed it soon.

He and Molly were screaming at each other again. Arthur searched his chest for his rolling papers, unaffected. Their arguments had become too commonplace to feel like eavesdropping, but something about the strain in Dutch's voice set Arthur's nerves on end. Molly and Dutch's relationship was coming to a close. It was obvious to everyone. It was especially obvious to Arthur that if things continued this way, Dutch would kick her to the curb sooner rather than later. There was too much else going on, too many lives and Pinkertons to worry about. It was not a place for a relationship to flourish. Love came into camp to die. 

It was never pretty, but, so far, this death was the ugliest Arthur had seen. It was like watching a shot deer struggle for breath. Or watching stitches slide through your skin, well aware they were going to have to come out. It was the inevitable riding on the heels of an already painful situation. The end would hurt most of all, and you knew it was coming, but not when.

Arthur slipped between his and Dutch's tent, saddlebag over his shoulder, and made his way to the lake's soft, sandy edge. He sat, Molly's words losing their meaning at that distance, but not their ferocity. He wished she had been the right one for Dutch. She obviously loved him. But it was doomed from the start, having ridden in on the coat tails of Annabelle. Even Dutch's rebounds lasted longer than any of Arthur's meaningful relationships. In a way, Molly was lucky. In another...

Arthur crushed a handful of flowers in his fist and rolled them into a cigarette paper. Dutch bit back a reply. Arthur lit one end of the paper, a smell like dirt and lilies riding on the smoke. The taste was like chewing grass. And after a few puffs, he felt nothing. 

He dug his journal out of his satchel and began drawing the frail lines of the flower's petals, resting the book in his lap so he could keep smoking while the other hand sketched. He began to wonder if the man had tricked him, had watched as Arthur plucked each sprig he saw and stowed them on his horse like he had struck gold, had laughed all the while. 

"You bastard!" Molly screamed, and sprang from Dutch's tent. She met Arthur's eyes and stopped in her tracks, already halfway to the shore. Arthur almost offered her some of the useless plant, but she was turning on her heels before he could. 

Dutch's tent flaps remained closed, but Arthur no longer felt that constant itch of worry. He kept sketching, filling the next page with the sight before him - the sunset skimming the trees of the island across the water. The sun kept dipping, but he couldn't bring himself to move, lost in the last warm rays of light and the gentle flicks of his wrist. 

“Arthur, what in the hell are you doin’?”

Arthur didn’t even startle at Dutch’s voice right behind him, didn’t slam his journal shut as he normally would as Dutch stepped up beside him, eyes cast on the pages.

“You used to be a man of action,” Dutch continued. “What are you doin’ hanging out in camp all the time?”

“I just got here, Dutch.”

Dutch tore his eyes off the sketch, letting them wander over Arthur's face. "Are you all right?"

“Yeah, why?”

Dutch hesitated and then shook his head. “What’s with all the flowers?”

“Some feller suggested I should smoke ‘em.”

Dutch quirked an eyebrow. “And you thought that sounded like a good idea?”

An unexpected laugh bubbled from Arthur's throat. “I guess I thought it did.”

“Well get you and your flowers back on your horse and go make us some money.”

Arthur dragged his satchel closer, drawing out a wad of cash and thrusting it in Dutch’s direction. “Didn’t want to put in the box while y’all were screamin’ at each other.” He froze, knowing before he saw Dutch stiffen that he had said too much.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Arthur. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

“Aw, come on. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Dutch yanked the money from Arthur’s hand, turning to go.

“Wait,” Arthur blurted, some quiet part of his mind suggesting he shut his mouth. The louder part kept him going. “I brought these flowers for you.”

“The flowers some stranger told you to smoke?”

“Yeah. Said it would relax you.”

Dutch’s frown deepened. He headed for his tent without another word. Somehow, that unnerved Arthur more, silence instead of a fight. He’d said too much again, overstepped the line no one dared cross except Hosea. He usually had better control on his tongue. 

He shut his journal with a sigh, struggling to his feet and teetering toward the water. It seemed hilarious for some reason. He was snatching up his saddlebag when Dutch reappeared, waistcoat gone and the first several buttons of his shirt popped open.

“Not gonna share now?” Dutch asked.

“Didn’t think you was interested.”

“Maybe I decided I want to relax. And since it hasn’t killed you yet, I’m guessin’ it ain’t deadly.” Arthur staggered backwards, Dutch catching him just as his boots hit the water. “You drunk?”

“Naw, it’s...I guess it’s this stuff.” He shook his saddlebag, leaning all his weight into Dutch.

Dutch stood him up straight. “Well, let’s take it somewhere where no one will see us then, shall we?”

Arthur was happy to listen, letting the warmth of Dutch’s body at his side lead him along the edge of the water and toward the trees, the chatter of camp restarting now that the fight was over but growing quieter with distance. Dutch slid to the ground, his shirt catching on the rough bark of the tree behind him. Arthur sat beside him and threw the saddlebag open at their feet.

Dutch watched him cram some of the flowers into a cigarette paper. "I should have cut her loose weeks ago."

It took Arthur a moment to realize who Dutch was talking about, his thoughts lagging beneath a warm haze. It felt good to forget, even momentarily. He handed the paper and its contents to Dutch and began rolling another for himself. 

"Why haven't you?" Arthur asked.

Dutch lit his cigarette, taking a puff before committing to an answer Arthur didn't expect would come. "A lot of reasons. But none outweigh the consequences of keeping her around."

Arthur hummed as if in understanding, taking a draw from his own cigarette. Warmth curled beneath his skin. He leaned into the tree, shoulder brushing Dutch's. 

Dutch gave a quiet laugh. "I haven't seen you this at ease in months."

"It's hard."

"What is?"

"Wonderin' when our luck will run out."

Dutch fell silent, the sun's reflection bouncing off the water and sparkling across his face. Something tugged at Arthur's stomach. He ignored it.

As much as Dutch pretended to be an optimist, it didn't take much convincing for him to share Arthur's doubts. It was one of the reasons Arthur figured Dutch hounded him so much for fearing the worst - because in the back of his mind, Dutch was just as terrified. 

"I know you and Hosea see promise in Rhodes, but I'm not sure it's a good idea to get so...involved."

Dutch scowled. "What do you want me to do, Arthur? Ignore the possible fortune we might incur because you're scared? Do you know how much less we'd have if I listened to your bellyaching?"

The hot blush of anger did not climb Arthur's neck as it normally would have. He wasn't sure where the cool swell of calm was coming from, but smoked the flower a little more fervently just in case it was its doing. "Davey would still be alive if you had." He was saying too much. "Mac too." Way too much. "Jenny."

"Arthur," Dutch warned. 

"I know you're ashamed. At least, you act like you are. But that could still happen to any of us if we keep on this path. You. Hosea. Molly. John. The people you claim to love most could die just as quick as the others. The more we try these get rich quick schemes the more we risk."

Dutch crushed the end of his cigarette into the dirt by Arthur's hand. "You got a boat we can use to get outta this country?"

Dutch wasn't yelling. Even in Arthur's hazy state, he was shocked. "No."

"Then I don't know how you expect to get away from the Pinkertons without a get rich quick scheme, considering captains require things like money in exchange for transportation." Dutch watched Arthur closely, watched the last bit of his cigarette burn red just an inch from his lips. "Roll me another."

Arthur handed his off to Dutch, rolling them both new ones, Dutch smoking the last of Arthur's and using the end to light the new one before flicking it toward the water. Arthur wasn't sure it made it all the way, but couldn't be bothered to worry about the very real threat of a forest fire pushing them out of their new camp and drawing attention to their very spot. 

"I'm doin' my best," Dutch said after awhile. "If you don't like it, you can leave."

A small shock of pain made it through to Arthur, stabbing him right in the heart. "I don't want to leave."

"The whole camp's been gossiping about Mary's letter."

"Of course they have."

"She's wanted you to leave us behind for years. Why not go be with her? Then you won't have to worry yourself with my plans."

Arthur felt a stirring of frustration. Of longing. "Dutch, you really are a Goddamn fool if you think it's that easy."

"Don't think you can handle the real world, Arthur?"

"I can handle anything, Dutch, except being away from you."

There was a sudden silence that even the birds thought best not to disturb. A stillness. The sky had gone orange, the lake shadowed by oncoming night. 

"This gang means more to me than anything. I kill for it and I'd die for it. You could hold a gun to my head and I still wouldn't leave. It ain't me dyin' I'm afraid of--it's watching all I have, all I've ever had, die before me."

Dutch swallowed, eyes distant. "Then I'm sorry."

"For?"

Dutch shook his head, pinching a flower between his fingers and watching the sky edge toward black. When Arthur decided Dutch wasn't going to answer, he finally did . "I made a mistake, Arthur. A big one. I got us in this mess. Made you worry. And I'm sorry."

"Ain't nothin' to apologize for. The Blackwater thing was an accident as far as I'm aware. I guess I just wanted you to... I don't really know. Be more careful I guess. I'd rather hang on the gallows at your side than watch us all descend into madness."

Dutch's reddened eyes locked onto Arthur's. "I think I'd rather descend into madness than hang. But neither is going to happen."

"Then give yourself time to think things through. Time is short, sure, but it's less of a risk to wait than it is to go into anything without a proper plan."

Dutch smirked, but whatever humor he felt didn't reach his eyes. "Using my words against me now, are we?"

He burned through another cigarette, feeling lightheaded and a little nauseated, but the remaining flowers were wilting, so rolled two more before they went to waste. He glanced toward camp and the shadowy figures bent around the fire. If anyone had noticed them missing, they hadn't come looking yet. It offered Arthur a sense of freedom he hadn't felt in...in years, when the gang was just three outcasts living day by day without worry of the future. The coming years - the entire rest of his life - had stretched before Arthur like an adventure he couldn't wait to explore. But things has changed. And dread for the future replaced wonder. Dutch and Hosea's special place in their hearts for Arthur had been filled full with newer, younger, more promising members. Dutch claimed to have seen something special in Arthur, but Arthur had realized with each new body piling into their camp that Dutch saw promise in anything. Arthur had never been special. He had just been the first. 

"Do you want me to go with Mary?" His voice sounded distant to his own ears yet still startled him. It was a question obviously born from a childish need for reassurance. 

Arthur saw more than heard Dutch laugh. "If you're going to leave me, at least leave me for someone who deserves you."

He was right. Mary was a woman too good for the likes of him. 

"That's not what I meant."

Arthur titled his head. It had gotten dark enough that the only thing lighting Dutch's face was the end of his cigarette. "Did I say that out loud?"

The lines between Dutch's eyebrows deepened. "You did. And what I meant was that you're too good for Mary, not the other way around."

It was Arthur's turn to laugh. Dutch usually said what he meant, but this seemed too far beyond the realm of possibility to be truthful. "I think we've both smoked too much."

Dutch laughed with him, hard enough for tears to spring onto his lashes. Arthur grabbed at his stomach, nausea momentarily buried beneath the muscle cramps. For some reason, nothing in his life had ever been so funny. 

"Dutch?"

The shout made their laughter die. Arthur looked toward the camp where Molly was pacing, her hands circled around her mouth as she screamed into the dark. 

"Dutch? I know you can hear me. Where the hell are ya?"

Dutch took the last rolled cigarette, the bloom of flame reflecting in his eyes. "It's gonna take all you got to relax me, I'm afraid."

"She'll get over it. Whatever it is. You just gotta apologize."

"I ain't done nothin' to apologize for."

"Well she seems to think otherwise."

"That's her problem. She thinks too much. She ain't got nothin' else to do besides think, and it's driving me insane. I can't even look at anybody without her flyin' off the handle. If you were a woman and she knew that we were out here alone, she'd kill us both, slowly and with nothing but words. Because let me tell you Arthur, I'm about ready to put a gun in my mouth having listened to her all day."

Arthur nodded to himself, knowing the feeling. Mary had a wonderful way of praising you one second and then resenting you the next. It was a talent that would drive Arthur to the brink in his older age if he had to live with it like he used to. "Well, I'd be pretty upset if you shot yourself, so maybe hold off on that."

Arthur could hardly see Dutch anymore but could feel his eyes more than ever, burning holes into the side of his face. "You could handle yourself. Unlike some others in the camp."

"I know. I'd just miss you."

Too much, too much, too much.

"I see."

Arthur fidgeted, another shout from Molly echoing from the camp, digging into his nerves, Dutch's hand grazing his, sweat trailing down his spine, colors blooming behind his eyes. He wasn't sure if he was high or ill.

"What're you doin'"? Arthur whispered, feeling Dutch lean closer.

"I remember that night outside Quaker's Cove." 

Arthur stopped breathing.

Dutch's hot breath puffed across Arthur's neck. "Never seen your face so red, sliding into my tent, drunk out of your mind, not even realizing I had my cock in my hand until you were on the bedroll with me."

"You said--"

"It was easier to pretend I was too drunk to remember," Dutch said, nose brushing Arthur's jawline. "But you were the one drinkin', not me. I was stone cold sober."

Arthur shivered, leaning into the press of Dutch's lips on his throat.

"You looked at me like I'd slapped you, just laid there staring. I lost my nerve. Told you--"

"Get out or help," Arthur finished.

Dutch laughed into Arthur's neck, locking his teeth around a expanse of skin and sucking. Arthur gasped, bucking up into nothing. 

"So you helped," Dutch said. "I never knew how much I needed you to take care of me until I was cumming in your fist."

"Dutch--"

"Do it again."

His throat clenched as if expecting him to hurl. Instead, he swallowed around the knot and reached out, squeezing Dutch's thigh, feeling him scooting closer. 

Nothing had ever felt so good as jerking Dutch to climax that night, about three years ago, evident by the wetness in his pants after it was all over. Drink lulled him into sleep, and when he woke, Dutch was gone, and neither of them mentioned it, except once - Arthur asking if he did something stupid last night, just to see what Dutch said. Dutch said he didn't remember much of anything either. 

"You liar," Arthur hissed, feeling the rough skin of Dutch's fingers slide into his pants.

"Forgive me." Dutch's breath hitched, Arthur rubbing a palm over the tent in his pants. "But it seemed like it was something you regretted."

Arthur wrenched Dutch's pants open, too blind and too mindless to see or care if he had ripped them. The only thing he could think about was the hot, hard cock springing into his hand, his mouth sealing shut to keep a groan at bay. Dutch was gentler, undoing Arthur's buttons one by one and letting his hardening cock rise out on its own.

"I only regret not returning the next night" Arthur admitted. He was already pumping Dutch, wishing he could see what he felt, burning hot and tingling at the low growl that rose from Dutch's chest. 

Dutch spit into his hand and wrapped it around Arthur, capturing Arthur's answering moan in his mouth. He felt aflame, Dutch's hand on him, Dutch's tongue exploring his mouth. He thrusted into Dutch's fist, begging for friction, jerking Dutch faster and harder as if he was doing it to himself. 

Dutch broke the kiss, breath hot on Arthur's swollen lips. "Beg me."

He didn't even hesitate, squeezing Dutch's heavy balls with his free hand. "Please, Dutch. Fucking please. Make me cu--ah!"

Dutch slapped a hand over Arthur's mouth, a laugh in his voice. "Easy, big boy. Wouldn't want someone to come runnin', would we?"

At this point Arthur didn't care who heard or saw. Dutch was fist-fucking him, leaving hickies on his throat, twitching in Arthur's hand, moaning. Moaning his name.

"Oh, Arthur. That's it."

Arthur face burned hotter, his balls tightened. Dutch slowed down as if sensing it. "Please, Dutch."

He got a kiss, this one just a brush of lips, and then Dutch was slamming him into the dirt, tearing his shirt open, straddling his legs. His hand never left Arthur's cock. 

Arthur went still. "Dutch?"

Then Dutch was kissing him again, harder, deeper, their knuckles scraping each other's as they pumped. Arthur's toes were curling. Dutch was gasping against his lips. "You want my cum, Arthur?"

"Yes."

Dutch's strokes went frantic. Arthur dug his teeth into Dutch's bottom lip, Dutch's breath stalling. Silence. Then his cock was pulsing in Arthur's hand, a gasp and groan on his lips, his body twitching, cum shooting over their hands, onto Arthur's cock, onto his bare chest.

Arthur grabbed Dutch's wrist, heels working into the ground, orgasm hitting him like a lighting strike, sudden and sending him to the brink of death.

"Dutch!" Molly called.

"Dutch!" Arthur gasped, hot stripes of spend painting his stomach along with Dutch's.

Dutch leaned over him, licking a swipe of cum from Arthur's chest before pressing their lips together, Arthur tasting himself. Tasting Dutch. His ears were ringing. His legs were trembling. He felt at once wrung-dry and full of hope and promise. 

Dutch lay down beside him, fingers clasping his jaw to pull him into another, softer kiss. It was almost...loving. Arthur melted into it, the mess on his skin cooling fast. He shivered and that seemed to break whatever spell Dutch had been under. He pulled away.

"Can you get back to camp on your own?" He asked.

Arthur nodded. When he realized Dutch probably couldn't see him, he cleared his throat and gave a quiet, "yeah."

Truth was, he wasn't sure. His head was still spinning from the flower and he had just had the best orgasm of his life. 

He watched Dutch's silhouette rise and work himself back into his pants. Dutch wound through the trees toward camp without another word, leaving Arthur exposed and alone. 

A deeper chill settled into Arthur's skin, reaching deep into his bones, reminiscent of the first time he had done this with Dutch. How bad had he screwed up? How was this going to change things? 

He shivered again, trying to find the strength to clean himself off. Maybe they would pretend this too never happened. Maybe the flower would make them forget. Maybe he wanted to forget, because the longer he lay there, covered in cum, the more alarmed he felt. Shamed. Used. 

"Molly, my dear," Dutch said in the distance. 

Things had changed, but between Arthur and Dutch, it would always be the same old story.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter @nutmegalodon


End file.
